


He Gives To His Beloved

by helsinkibaby



Series: Inside the Tornado [18]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Dead Irish Writers" Leo's thoughts at the First Lady's birthday party. Eighteenth in the "Inside the Tornado" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Gives To His Beloved

The final lines of the Canadian National Anthem - and no, I don't understand why the hell we were playing it at the First Lady's birthday party, but I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for it that I'll no doubt hear from a dozen different people - are fading into the distance as the President and First Lady decide to take advantage of the dancefloor. Donna mentions something about going to find the rest of the assistants, and I wonder for just a second if Margaret actually managed to find her way out of my office this evening. Like me, she's been in and out, and the last time I saw her, she had the phone to her ear and a rather displeased expression on her face. I haven't seen her look that annoyed since I had to bail out of the California trip two years ago, and if she didn't get over here, she's not going to be a bundle of joy to work with in the next few weeks. Josh is trying to convince Amy to come out on to the dance floor, and she finally gives in, although her body language looks decidedly frosty. Come to think of it, have I ever seen her look any other way?

This, of course, leaves me standing with my favourite person in the whole of Washington.

"Gerald, old sock!" Lord John Marbury is fond of pretending that he doesn't know my name. In point of fact, he knows well who I am, so this preposterous exercise only serves to confuse most people and annoy the hell out of me. It also serves to bolster his image as an eccentric member of the British aristocracy, which I rather suspect is what he's after. Lord Marbury is also fond of clapping me on the back, and for a moment I fear, as is my habit when it comes to this man, that he's dislocated something around my shoulder. "Are you enjoying this marvellous event?"

I nod, because at least this is a safe topic. "It's a wonderful party," I agree, although God knows I've not seen much of it. Come to think of it, I heard a rumour that he and Toby were last seen heading out to a bar down the street, so I wonder how much of it he's seen, to say nothing of how much he'll remember in the morning. "The President certainly put a lot of work into planning it."

"A remarkable event for a remarkable woman, don't you think Gerald?"

"I do." I'm looking around for some unsuspecting person that I can pawn him off on when he says something that ensures my whole attention is concentrated on him.

"Speaking of remarkable women…"

That's all he says, but there's something in his tone that has me turning towards him, wondering what poor unsuspecting female he has in his sights. To my surprise, he's looking right at me, something vaguely appraising in his face. I lift an eyebrow in question, waiting for him to continue.

"It seems to me that I recall meeting a rather charming individual the last time that I was at one of your White House shindigs, when I was first made Ambassador." He takes a gulp of champagne from the glass in his hand, but he never takes his eyes off me. "Petite girl, long blonde hair, big eyes…" Considering what he admired about Abbey, I suppose I should be grateful that that's all he said, because I'm sure that I know who he's talking about, and the White House Chief of Staff brawling with the British Ambassador would not make good front pages tomorrow morning. Although there are those who would admit that it had been a long time coming. "Southern lady," he continues, and that alone removes any doubt as to who he might be talking about.

"You must mean Ainsley Hayes," I say, smiling through gritted teeth, hoping that the stab of pain in my chest as I say her name is linked to the memory of times past, and not my first heart attack.

"Ainsley, yes, that's it. Enchanting creature, positively divine." Another gulp of champagne makes its way down his throat. "As I recall, you appeared to be quite enamoured of her yourself." He waggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively, and I find myself furtively looking around for press, just in case.

"I'm sure Ainsley is around here somewhere," I tell him, side-stepping his allegation neatly. She must have been invited, because, at Abbey's insistence, all the West Wing women were. I'm sure that an invitation would have found its way to her; if for no other reason than Donna would have pulled some strings if it hadn't. That being said, I haven't seen her tonight, and for that, I'm almost grateful.

But there's a part of me that would love to see what she looks like tonight. This room is filled with beautiful women, every one of them in their best dresses, but I bet there's not one of them would hold a candle to her.

"I rather thought that you'd be sticking to her like glue old boy," Lord Fauntleroy continues, once more slapping my shoulder. "A girl like that…"

"Your Lordship, would you excuse me?" Rudeness be damned, I really can't take much more of this. "I think I see someone over there that I need to discuss something with." If he notices my vagueness, I really don't care, and I look to my right, seeing CJ standing off to the side. "Have you spoken to CJ yet tonight?"

He gives me a look. "I have not, and I shall rectify that oversight forthwith."

"Good then." I'm beginning to move away, but his voice stops me.

"Gerald?" He's quieter somehow, more serious, and I find myself really looking at him, awaiting his next words. "What I was going to say, is that a lady like that is worth her weight in gold. You'd do well to remember that."

With that, he's gone, bounding across the room to CJ, who's holding her head as she sees him approaching, but since she's CJ, a winning smile instantly appears as she holds out her hand.

Meanwhile, I'm left standing in the middle of the tables, trying to assess what he's just told me. Could it be that I've just received relationship advice from Lord John Marbury? Advice which seemed to come from the heart, which was well intentioned and discreet?

I'm tempted to check just what was in the glass that I was drinking out of.

Instead, I find myself looking around the room, looking for Ainsley. I didn't lie to Lord Marbury just then; I really haven't seen her tonight.

I haven't seen her in almost a week.

Not since the night that she had her date with Sam.

I resisted the urge to ply him with enough work to keep him busy up to the next election that night. I thought that breaking up his date with my ex-lover, as I once broke up his date with my daughter, might arouse suspicion. Certainly Ainsley would have worked out what I was doing. Much as I hated to admit it, I told myself that Ainsley was a single woman now, old enough to make her own choices about who she could date.

Even if it wasn't me.

It's not as if it was such a shock to me either. After all, didn't I call it back before I even realised what I felt for Ainsley went beyond friendship? I knew that Sam was sweet on her, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he made a move.

But she was with me, and I knew that she wouldn't do anything about it. I knew that she didn't care for Sam like that.

So it was a shock for me when the Senior Staff were gathered in my office and Josh casually announced that Sam had asked Ainsley out, and that she'd said yes. Casually, like he wasn't ripping my world apart with those words. I heard more than I wanted to that entire week about the Date - and notice how I think of it in capitals? He took a lot of ribbing over the fact that he, a prominent Democrat, was taking her, a prominent Republican, out to the theatre on the night of the vote in Hartsfield's Landing. He responded with the fact that he'd rather be elsewhere than sitting around waiting for the results to come in, and I can't say as I blamed him.

Of course, I ended up trying to broker a deal between China and Taiwan that night, while he ended up playing chess with the President. Might I just point out that I did not suggest that to the President, that it had nothing to do with me? Of course Sam could have told the President that he had plans for the evening, but Sam's so polite that he'd never do that. So he cancelled with Ainsley, made plans for two nights later instead.

I spent that night in the office, working as long as I could. I didn't want to go home, to my empty apartment, not until I was tired enough to go straight to sleep. So I sent Margaret home, despite her repeated protests that she'd stay until I was ready to leave, and I worked, reading memos and briefing books, wondering if I could possibly bunk down on the couch in my office. It wouldn't have been the first time, although it would have been the first time in a long time.

That's when my cell phone rang.

I know that when my cell rings late at night, it's not a good sign, and that's why I answered it as quickly as I could, not even checking the caller ID. "McGarry," I answered.

"It's me."

I snapped to attention at the sound of her voice, because she was the last person that I expected to phone me. A quick glance at my watch told me that she was meant to be out with Sam right then, for dinner and dancing and who knows what else. Then the sound of her voice worked its way into my head. She didn't sound happy. Her voice was tired, strained. As if she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Ainsley?" I knew who it was, but I was trying to be as gentle as possible with her, knowing from those two words that all was indeed not well with her. The last time I heard her sound like that was the day that the President announced that he'd decided to accept the censure.

"Are you still at work?"

My heart was hammering in my chest at her words, and I nodded dumbly. "Yeah. But I can be home in…what…half an hour?"

"May I come over? Because I need to…that is, I would appreciate…"

"Ainsley, you don't have to ask. Come over." I cut off her halting words, wondering what the hell Sam did to her to have her in this kind of a state, already standing up, closing files hurriedly. "I'm on my way."

"Right." She didn't say anything else, just hung up the phone. I listened to the dial tone for only a second before heading out to find my guy. The journey from the office to my place seemed to take at least three times longer than it ever has before, and when I got there, I almost expected her to be there already. But there was no sign of her car on my street; she wasn't inside my apartment building, which meant that I had a few minutes of pacing around the living room, all kinds of scenarios running through my head.

The knock on the door, when it came, was as loud as a gunshot in the silence of my apartment, although I knew that it was little more than a tap. I don't even remember moving towards it, didn't realise that I was doing it until the door was opened to reveal her standing there.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw her.

She was wearing a long black coat, what looked to me like her best black coat, which my mind processed as proof of how seriously she was taking this date with Sam. The buttons were open, and underneath the coat, I could see a dark red dress, falling all the way to her ankles. I always liked her in red. Her hair too was just the way that I liked it, loose down her back, and even standing there in my doorway, all I wanted to do was reach out and let it tangle in my fingers.

The only thing that stopped me was the look on her face.

She'd been crying. I may not be the most observant person in the world, but there was no mistaking the blotches on her face, or the redness of her eyes. Her lower lip was wobbling tremulously, and she was standing ramrod straight, as if sheer willpower was the only thing holding her together. I didn't doubt that it was.

"Ainsley…" Her name was the only sound that I could force past my vocal cords; that's how shocked I was. What in the name of God had happened to her?

"I didn't have my key," she whispered, in a voice that sounded as if she'd spent the last few hours screaming. I had an image of a small white envelope inside a box filled with my things; she had indeed given my key back to me that night.

"Come in," I managed to whisper, stepping back and holding out my arm in invitation. My fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out and press themselves against her back, but I refrained. I still didn't know what had happened to her, and besides, the last time I touched her was that night that I went to her apartment, when she pulled away from me as if I'd burned her.

She walked into the living room, pacing restlessly, wringing her hands nervously, but she didn't say anything, just kept walking back and forth.

"You can sit down," I suggested gently, gesturing to the couch. I didn't go to her though, staying leaning against the doorframe, trying to make myself as non-threatening as possible to her. She looked at me then, flashing me a tight, quick grin, then looked back down again. "I can get you coffee…a soft drink?" I suggested, but she shook her head.

"I didn't come here for refreshments Leo," she said, and I nodded.

"Then why did you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again, drawing a deep breath before trying to speak again. "I was supposed to go out with Sam tonight," she began.

"I know," I said, even as my heart leaped at the word "supposed." I took that to mean that the date hadn't gone ahead, although if that's what had her so upset, I wasn't sure that I wanted to hear the rest of what she had to say. She nodded at my words, wrapping her arms around herself, turning away from me. "Ainsley," I asked, abandoning restraint and taking a couple of steps towards her. "Did something happen tonight…did Sam do something…"

"No." She cut the question off with a word, combined with a rueful laugh. "No, he didn't do anything. Sam's…Sam's not like that."

Which, of course, I knew. But that didn't stop me wondering why she was so upset. "Then why…"

"He asked me out last week," she told me, acting as if I hadn't spoken. "He was so sweet about it, so nice. I said yes. Why shouldn't I say yes, after all, we two were no longer dating, there was nothing wrong with going out with Sam. That's what I told myself. That's what I told Cassie, even though she had certain objections to it. She told me that I was trying to get over one White House romance in the arms of another." She shrugged at my look of surprise. "You must have known that Cassie would put two and two together when you came to my apartment that night. She is hardly unintelligent, and she knows me very well."

I nodded, rubbing a hand over my face. "I thought as much," I admitted.

"He had to cancel. He was playing chess with the President, which is certainly a valid excuse for breaking a date, and I told him that he could take me out for dinner instead tonight." Her eyes were narrowed sharply as she looked at me. "Do you understand that Leo? I suggested that we go out tonight. I wanted to go out with Sam. Did you hear me?"

I nodded, trying not to let her see how much that hurt. "I heard you."

"I wanted to go out with him," she repeated. "I was so tired of being alone, so tired of missing you..." My heart gave another leap at those words, but I purposely kept my face neutral. "I thought that if I went out with Sam…" She shook her head, her voice fading. "I don't know what the hell I thought. But I was insistent; I told Cassie, I told her that there was nothing wrong with me going out with Sam, that I was going to go out with Sam. But when I was getting ready…all I could think about was you. About how you liked me in red, about how you liked my hair down…I saw that stupid T-shirt that you left at my place…how you'd laugh when you saw me in it…" She bit her bottom lip. "Did you know that I used to wear it just to get you to laugh?"

I remembered her dancing around her kitchen last summer, right before we went to Manchester to launch the re-election campaign. It was only four weeks after the MS announcement, everything was going wrong around us, but that night, for that brief time that I was with her, I was able to forget about it all. "Yeah," I told her. "I knew that."

"So there I was, all dressed up for my date with Sam, and all I could think about was that he's not you. But I was still going to go. I was still going…" Tears came into her eyes and she forced them back, gritting her teeth and breathing deeply before she spoke again. "I didn't know where we were going, but I knew it was someplace nice. So I thought I'd wear my best coat, which of course, was at the back of my wardrobe. I took the clothes brush to it, because it wasn't exactly as clean as it might have been, since I couldn't even remember the last time I wore it, let alone the last time I sent it to the dry cleaners, and then I checked the pockets." Her right hand vanished into the pocket, and she pulled something out. "That's when I found this."

She held out her hand, and I closed the distance between us, waiting until I was arms length away from her to take what looked like a piece of paper from her. Straightening it out, I found that I was holding a dollar bill. There were no markings on it, no writing, nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary, and I looked up at her, confused and not bothering to hide it.

"You came to my apartment," she told me. "You were upset, because the President had been in meetings with Oliver Babish all day. You'd been told that there were going to be hearings, there was talk about a Special Prosecutor. You wanted to talk to me, but you weren't sure if you should."

It was all starting to come back to me. "You asked me for my wallet…"

"And when you gave it to me, I took out a dollar bill, and told you that you'd just hired yourself a lawyer. You asked me what if you didn't want a lawyer, but a friend instead…"

"You told me that I got that for free." I stared at the note in my hand, turning it over carefully. "This is..."

She nodded. "That was the first night that I kissed you, after wanting to for so long. I guess that the dollar bill fell out of my hand, because I found it in between the couch cushions the morning after you told me about Mrs Landingham." I knew, without her saying it, that that was the morning after we'd first made love. "That's how it got into this coat. Because it's the coat I wore to Mrs Landingham's funeral, and I carried that dollar bill around with me all that day. With the funeral, and the announcement, it was such a terrible day…but as long as I had that bill with me, I didn't feel so bad. Because it reminded me of you, and what we had together."

I was staring at her in shock, never having known that before. "And when I saw it today," she continued, her breath catching on a sob, "I remembered everything. How I felt that night when I kissed you, how much I wanted that. How I just wanted to stay with you forever. And it hit me then…" She took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes with an impatient hand. "It hit me that if I went out with Sam, that would be it for us. There'd be no coming back from that. We'd be over, and it would never be like it was before for us. That's when I knew…I knew I couldn't go out with him."

It was my turn to take a deep breath then, crumpling the dollar bill in my hand. "Ainsley, what are you saying…"

She had been looking down, but her head slowly lifted now, and she looked right at me, not taking her eyes off me. "I'm saying that I love you," she choked out. "That no matter what you did at Christmas…no matter how much it hurt me…being without you hurts me more." She took a step closer to me. "I don't…I don't want us to be over Leo."

Those were the words that I'd been waiting to hear ever since the night that she'd told me to leave her apartment, and I felt tears come into my own eyes. "You mean that?" I breathed, scarcely able to believe that this was really happening, sure that any minute now I'd wake up to find myself alone in my bed.

She nodded. "If you don't want…if you can't…" she began, but any further words from her were cut off when I closed the remaining distance between us, taking her in my arms in a fierce hug. Her arms instantly encircled my waist, holding me so tightly that I almost thought she'd crack one of my ribs, but I didn't care. After all, I was holding her just as tightly, one arm around her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her head, feeling her blonde hair so soft and silky underneath my fingers. Her head fit against my shoulder, just like it always had, and she felt so right there in my arms.

What must have been a long time later, but what was nowhere near long enough, I pulled back from her, still keeping my arms around her. The hand that had been on the back of her head moved around to cup her cheek, and I leaned forward, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Ainsley," I whispered. "I promise, I will never - never- do anything to hurt you again. I am so sorry-"

"Ssh," she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't Leo…I don't want to think about that anymore." I felt her take a deep breath in my arms. "It can't be like it was before, I know that. I know…but we have to be able to put it behind us…"

"I want to try," I told her. "God, I want that…I've missed you so much…"

She pulled me closer to her, pressing herself against me again. "I missed you too," she told me, and we lapsed into silence then, just holding one another.

"Are you staying tonight?" I finally asked.

This time, she loosened her hold on me, stepping back as she shook her head. "I want to," she told me frankly. "But I don't think that we should. I want to take this slowly Leo…"

I nodded. "I think that's probably for the best," I admitted, although it wasn't really what I wanted. However, considering how I started off that evening, I was ready to quit while I was ahead. "Maybe we could meet tomorrow night…at the place?"

A genuine smile crept across her face. "I think I'd like that," she replied. I walked her to the door, hand in hand, kissing her on the cheek when we got there. "Goodnight Leo."

"Goodnight," I replied, but I didn't let her hand go. "Call me when you get home?"

She nodded, and then she was gone. True to her word, she did call me when she got home, and while we didn't have a long conversation, at least it wasn't as strained as the one that we'd had in the mess the previous week. We had planned to go to the place the next night, but of course, we should know that it's hard for us to plan anything, because things came up which meant that I had to stay late, and then she had plans with friends of hers the nights that I was able to see her. For the last week, we've been relegated to having phone conversations, but maybe that's better for us, because slowly but surely, we're getting back to ourselves, to where we used to be. We can't rush it; we know that. I hurt her, badly, and she's still trying to get over that, still learning to trust me again, although I'm sure that she believes me that nothing happened with Jordan.

It's going to be a long road back to where we were, but at least now I know that we're on the right track.

I'm brought back to reality when Toby appears at my shoulder. "May I thank you for the meeting you just foisted upon me?" He doesn't look too happy, a fact that amuses me hugely.

"Sometimes Toby," I remind him. "You've just got to take one for the team."

"Just remember that when you're planning the next Big Block of Cheese Day," he grumbles, not joking in the least.

"I'll put a note on Margaret's desk," I promise. "How did it go?"

"When we stopped talking about dead Irish writers, he said that Brendan McGann cannot come to the White House," Toby says, repeating what I've already been told. I'm about to point that out to him when he continues with a slight smile on his face, "However, he also says that we must talk to him."

It takes a second for the penny to drop, and when it does, I can't help but smile and shake my head. "You'll get into it tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Toby agrees, before moving off, no doubt searching for whoever it was I pulled him away from earlier on. I watch him go, and it's then that she comes into my line of vision, and I have to swallow hard. She's wearing the dress that she bought after Thanksgiving, the one that I'd seen from a distance that night that Sam called her back here. Her hair is up in a ponytail again, exposing the lack of a back to the dress, and the smile on her face could light up a room.

It's as if she feels my eyes on her, because she turns her head in my direction, and I can make out the barest flicker of recognition in her eyes. She touches the arm of the person she's talking to, making her excuses, then she walks away from them, towards the exit. She glances back at me for the briefest of seconds without breaking stride, and her meaning is clear.

I have no doubt that the extra swing that she puts in her hips as she walks down the hall is purely for my benefit, but I make sure to maintain a discreet distance from her, just in case anyone were to see us.

I see her disappear into her new office, and after checking that the hallway is empty, I go to the doorway, opening it just enough that I can slide in, closing it firmly after me. When I look around, she's standing in front of her desk, her hands braced behind her, and she's grinning at me, a grin that I've missed over the last few weeks, one that I return wholeheartedly. "You look amazing," are my first words to her, and a pleased blush suffuses her cheeks.

"You too look most handsome," she informs me. "I always did like you in your tuxedo."

I recall her telling me that once before, the only other time that she saw me in a tux, and I push aside the memory of how that night ended. After all, there's no sense in tempting fate. Her words now, the tone in which she says them, give me the courage to go over to her, reaching out slowly, carefully, to put my hands on her hips. It's the first time I've touched her like this in weeks, and I'm half afraid that she's going to push me away, but she just smiles, putting her hands up so that they're resting on my chest. "I've missed you this past week," I tell her, and she shrugs.

"Work's work," is her easy response. "I've been enjoying the talking…it's nice. It's like it used to be, back before we were us."

That might confuse anyone else, but I know just what she's talking about. Ainsley and I had a relationship which was built on a friendship founded by long late night conversations. Not that we got away from that once we figured out what we were feeling, but the sense that I get now is that we're going backwards in order to go forwards. And that's fine with me, except that there's one part of what she just said that I take exception to. "There's always been an us Ainsley," I tell her now. "We just didn't know it."

She inclines her head, conceding the point. "I'm going to Hilton Head next week," she reminds me. "With Cassie." She told me that a couple of nights ago - Cassie's family have a house there, and Cassie invited Ainsley when she was in town, thinking that it might do her some good to get away from Washington - read, away from me.

"Bring your cell," I tell her, not for the first time. "We'll talk then."

"I could cancel," she tells me, and it looks like doubt and hope are waging war on her face. Part of her doesn't want to let Cassie down, but the other part wants to stay here, figure out whatever it is that's going on with us.

"It'll do you good to get away for a little while," I tell her. "I'll call you every night, I promise. You need a break."

She doesn't say anything else, but she doesn't look happy about it, and I just have the sense that we're going to be revisiting this topic again later. She stares up at me, and I stare back at her, until she blinks and a look of curiosity comes across her face. "What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"Yeats," I answer honestly, surprising both her and myself. She opens her mouth, probably to ask me what I'm talking about, but the question turns into a laugh, and I join her. "I sent Toby off on a meeting with Lord John Marbury," I tell her, and the name alone is enough to have her dissolving into more giggles.

"Toby and him, together? Leo, you don't send them off, you sell tickets," she manages to choke out, and I have to admit, I see where she's coming from.

"Anyway," I continue when she calms down. "Toby didn't tell me too much about what they were talking about; that's for tomorrow. But he did mention something about dead Irish writers."

"So you were thinking about W.B. Yeats when you were holding me in your arms," she surmises dryly.

I don't say anything for a moment, narrowing my eyes, thinking. Then, taking a deep breath, I begin to speak.   
_  
"Fasten up your hair with a golden pin,  
And bind up every wandering tress;  
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:  
It worked at them, day out, day in,  
Building a sorrowful loveliness  
Out of the battles of old times. _

_You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,  
And bind up your long hair and sigh;  
And all men's hearts must burn and beat;  
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,  
And stars climbing from the dew-dropping sky,  
Live but to light your passing feet." _

When I finish speaking, there are tears in her eyes, and I just shrug. "It's always made me think of you," I tell her simply.

"Leo…" she whispers, but I don't let her finish. Instead, I slide my hands from her hips around to her back, bringing her closer to me as I lean in towards her. She doesn't resist in the slightest, and our lips meet.

Considering that it's nigh on two months since I last kissed her, it's surprisingly chaste. In the back of my mind, I'm very aware that I have never kissed her in the White House, and that carrying on like this when there's a party going on down the hall and when the place is filled with press and photographers is not a good idea. Still, what it lacks in fireworks, it more than makes up for in emotion, and there are tears in both our eyes when we separate.

She reaches up a hand to my lips, rubbing them gently to remove any evidence, then both her hands move to my shoulders. She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush, bestowing upon me a shaky smile. "I love you," she whispers.

And in spite of the press, in spite of the party, in spite of the surroundings, in spite of the fact that I've never said the words before, they spill forth easily from my lips.

"I love you too."


End file.
